


Making Anything Look Sexy

by afteriwake



Category: Doctor Who, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Crossover, Crossover Pairings, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Established Sherlock Holmes/Amy Pond, F/M, Flirty Amy, Fluff, Implied Sexual Content, POV Sherlock Holmes, Sexy Amy, Sherlock is Not a Virgin, Sherlock is a Good Boyfriend, Sherlock's Hat, Sherlock-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-03
Updated: 2016-01-03
Packaged: 2018-05-11 13:52:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5628913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afteriwake/pseuds/afteriwake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock is complaining about the fascination people have with him and the deerstalker, so Amy decides to prove to him that, in the right circumstances, it can look quite sexy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Making Anything Look Sexy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



> So this was written for my dear friend **LadyEmmalineWrites1812** who left me the drabble prompt " _Pondlock, Deerstalker, 3_ " (along with the note " _I just got hit with plot bunnies and the idea of Amy either wearing the deerstalker and/or teasing Sherlock about the deerstalker, I don't know if you've ever written that before and you don't have to do that specifically but I'd love it!_ ") a while back and I got hit with the urge to make it a longer fic, and it became this. I hope you enjoy it, hun!

He hated that godforsaken, abominable hat.

Everywhere he turned, he kept getting them. He had at least six in the flat that he was aware of. He quite possibly had more, but there were six that were still in wearable condition. The rest had met rather gruesome fates due to fire or acid or other means, all in the name of his beloved science. He’d found that to be the best use for them. John rolled his eyes at that, said they were gifts, tokens of appreciation from fans and grateful clients and at the very least they should be put away in some trunk somewhere but not _destroyed_.

Amelia just laughed and gave him another idea of a science experiment to run on them to see how quickly he could destroy it.

That’s why he liked her best.

Well, that wasn’t quite the way it was, he supposed. He liked her in a _different_ way. In a more passionate way. In a distinctly more physical way, for one, but also in a romantic way, and in another a more…he wasn’t sure how to describe it. John was important to him, yes. John was important to him, his best mate. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to have what he had with Amelia if it hadn’t been for his friendship with John, and he owed him so much for that. He would owe him every damn day for that.

But what he had with Amelia was special, in its own way. Unique. Different. And he couldn’t quantify it or classify it or describe it. And to be frank, he found he didn’t want or need to. Which, he supposed, might mean it was love.

He knew her past, knew the twists and turns it had taken since she was a child and a mad man with a box had landed on her aunt’s shed. She had thought he’d think it strange, but she hadn’t realized he had a brother in the government with his fingers in a lot of pies, including UNIT. He’d known about the Doctor ever since he’d hacked into Mycroft’s private files when he’d first started to have access to all sorts of juicy information. After all, information was power, and he’d never known when he might need it. And she’d been grateful he hadn’t thought she was crazy or anything like that. 

She’d been married when they met. He’d come into her life at a rough patch; she’d just stopped adventuring with the Doctor, tried to settle down into a normal life with her husband. It…hadn’t worked out. Their past had worked against them, pitted them against each other. They’d pushed each other away when they should have tried to work things out. At the time he’d had no interests in her; he’d had his hands full sorting out Moriarty’s mess, trying to keep his life together. And then both their lives had fallen apart and that was that. Around the time he fell she’d ended things with her husband, and as he traveled the world their paths would occasionally cross on her modeling trips. It had been good to see one familiar face in the world, have one bit of home while adrift. 

Things had changed when they ran across each other in Johannesburg; she had been particularly down in the dumps and he had allowed himself one evening to indulge in a few drinks, and then he indulged in a bit more as he found himself kissing her. When she kissed him back there was a spark there that ignited something in them, and they had just barely made it to his bed before the passion threatened to consume them. He had delayed his departure an extra day because he didn’t want to leave, but eventually he did, his sense of determination to finish the job renewed so that he could return to London and try and see what was there between them.

Once the shock and awe of his return from the dead wore off, and they were left to relative peace and quiet, he found it was a rather nice and cozy closeness between them. There was nothing in their relationship that made him uncomfortable or made him feel the urge to flee, to pull back into the shell he had been in. he was open with her, not hiding the parts of himself he usually did. He let the good and the bad come to light, the strong and the vulnerable sides of himself. He let her be close, and he found that she responded in kind. He was happy in a way he had not been before.

And life would be almost perfect, he thought, if it wasn’t for obnoxious fans and that damnable gift of the abominable hat.

He smiled as he took the hat from the client, inclining his head, and as soon as they were gone he tossed it on the sofa and then, for good measure, tossed the sofa pillow over it. “One day I will get people to stop giving me the damn hat,” he grumbled.

Amelia chuckled and then went over to sofa, plucked the pillow off the hat and then picked it up and looked at it. “It’s not a _bad_ hat,” she said. “I mean, I suppose with the right outfit it could be appealing.”

Sherlock scoffed. “I don’t think there’s an outfit in the world that could make a deerstalker hat look appealing,” he said.

Her eyes got a sparkle to them. “Is that an official challenge, Sherlock?” she asked.

He tilted his head. “I suppose it could be,” he said. “Do you want to place a wager on this?”

She nodded. “Loser has to be at the winner’s beck and call for…a week.”

“Three days.”

“Five days.”

“Done.” He extended his hand and she switched the deerstalker over to her other hand to shake on it. “You have three chances, Amelia. I’ll give you that many tries.”

She gave him a smirk. “Oh, I think I’ll only need one,” she said. She leaned over and gave him a quick kiss. “Provided this case you just took doesn’t take up your entire evening, be by my flat at seven. And don’t plan on coming back here tonight.”

He grinned at that. “It’s a four. I’ll be done in three hours.”

“That’s my guy,” she said with a grin as she went to get her coat and scarf and put the deerstalker in her handbag. He watched her get ready to leave and felt a sense of anticipation. He had the feeling she would resort to lingerie, but the question in his mind was, just how much was he going to mind being at her beck and call for the next five days?

**\---**

He finished the case in two hours and thirty-three minutes, and killed time until seven PM. He let himself in with the key she had given him long ago to find the lights off in the flat and multiple candles lit. Mood lighting. This was going to be a very interesting evening, he surmised. He took off his coat and scarf and hung them up on her coat rack, and then made his way towards her bedroom. “Amelia?” he called out.

“In the bedroom,” she called back. He went into the bedroom and saw her standing there with a matching bra and knickers set on that had garters and fishnet stockings, stiletto heels on her feet and the deerstalker on top of her head. The bra was a halter type with sheer lace panels and frilly lace at the bottom, and the knickers covered her hips and just the top of her derriere and had the same black floral lace. He felt himself have a rather immediate and evident reaction to the outfit, even with the hat on her head. She stepped closer to him. “So,” she said, her gaze moving down his torso to below his belt. “I’d say you find this sight appealing.”

“You knew I would,” he said.

“Oh, yes,” she said with a smirk as she moved closer and put a hand on his chest. “Please be careful and try not to rip any of the lingerie when you take it off. The deerstalker I don’t give a crap about, but I am rather fond of this set.”

He reached up and untied the top string of the bra before pressing a kiss to her bare shoulder. “Well, I _am_ at your beck and call for the next five days,” he murmured against her skin before lifting his head up to kiss her properly. He was still going to hate the very sight of those damn hats…but at least now when he saw them he might be able to think of them in a _slightly_ better light.


End file.
